The Biggest Sur: Superlatives and Squatting on the California Coast

Forty miles south of Monterrey
in the San Lucia hills
the sunshine shone me to sleep
and I dreamt I was alive

We drove west from Joshua Tree, headed for the coast with Matt Sr., the latest addition to Team P-Rope. Our route took us from the sun-scorched desolation of the high desert into the light and sound and tumult of Los Angeles. We emerged onto the coast shell-shocked, blind and deaf from the contrast of it. Matt Sr. recalled a poem by Robinson Jeffers, "the Purse Seine;" a line of it bears quoting:

I cannot tell you how beautiful the city appeared, and a little terrible.

We spent a night on the beach in Santa Barbara with the sea breeze and the curious jumping bugs, and Matt Sr. decided to stick with us rather than stay on in Santa Barbara. Big Sur was beautiful, with free camping in the old-growth forest and hot showers for 25 cents per three minutes.
We visited the Henry Miller Library and bookstore, where a few local artists were performing. Peculiarly, we all four emerged from the bookstore empty-handed. There must be some magic in Big Sur.

Below: Ash overlooking Julia Pfeiffer Burns Beach. Site of poaching activities.
Below: Paxton at The Beach.
Below: Ashley, Matt Jr., and Matt Sr. along the fabled "Old Coast Highway."
Below: A rested and restive Paxton at our beach camp in Santa Barbara.
Below: The Gang packed (tight) into the Ranger. Two is cash money, three is fun, four's a party.

Oh, and a final word: a 70 meter rope will get you just down to the beach and falls at JPBSP. Don't be dissuaded by that wordsmith AshSan: etriers and ascenders are a dy-no-mite way to climb a sea cliff.